Love?
by scumisyum
Summary: You're asking me what love is Parkinson? dracopansy slightly unrequited. A conversation in the Slytherin Common Room. R&R one shot
1. Chapter 1

The Symptoms

A/N Hello all, this is my first Draco Pansy fic or serious Harry Potter fic so do be gently with the criticism. Part from that, read and review!

The Slytherin Common Room was quiet, the air cold, the stone floor freezing but one could distinguish the forms of two figures who sat curled by the fire. One of them was a girl with dark mane that fell neatly to her shoulders, the other a boy with hair as light as the palest white. They sat there contemplating the flames, neither touching or apart.

"Draco?" The silence was broken by the girl, whose face could be perceived as she turned to look at her counterpart. Her eyes were the color of brandy and the most distinguishing feature of her face was her nose, upturned at the tip.

"Draco, what is love?" The question was followed by a faint blush and the girl seemed to want to recant her question.

The boy looked at her in surprise. His eyes were gray and piercing, as cold as winter and seemed to reflect his personality. His lips which were usually curled into a sneer seemed remarkably lax and dispirited. Draco, for that was the boy's name, seemed pensive.

"You're asking what love is, Parkinson?" The light haired boy's voice was tinted with a saccharine drawl that hinted at an intimate knowledge or sarcasm and derision. The girl truly blushed now and seemed to fluster. Her cool façade turned returned to that of the girl she was: a young woman in the mists of what she understood not.

"I know its silly Draco, and I know you probably wouldn't want to lower yourself to, to talk to me about something of the like but I'm afraid I simply must know! I- I've tried to find out by myself but, but I can't find the proper answer. So…so I wanted to ask you…do please explain." The boy just looked at her impassively through out her ramblings though his eyes hinted to an inner amusement and a subtle discomfort as to where there conversation was heading.

"I've only truly talked to Blaise about this before, Pansy. No one else," he told her in an aloof tone.

"Oh… oh, right. Well, then –right- I understand completely that you're not willing to share with me. I just needed to understand, you see. I- I needed to know the symptoms… anything really." At this, Pansy, who's last name we can only assume is Parkinson, hugged her knees to herself as if only suddenly feeling the cold breeze that filled the dungeons.

"It's not that I'm ashamed, Pansy. And you know I love you…" but before he couldn't finish his phrase the girl snorted.

"No, you don't. And I don't mean that kind of love, Draco. I- I need to know about that… other stuff. Romance and so on. But I understand, you don't feel willing to express your opinion on that matter to me…" She looked distinctly uncomfortable. Her fingers were hitting a practiced pattern on her knees and she seemed ready to up and flee at a moment's notice.

Draco regarded her for a while, his gaze seemingly seeing through her and cutting through her flesh and into her soul. After a minutes pause, he turned away from her and visibly tensed before talking. "I believe in love."

Pansy looked shocked that he was mentioning even that and by the fact that Draco, a Malfoy -for it was clear to all those who saw him that from his physical features and attitude that he could only be a descendant of the most pure and dark house of Malfoy- believed in such a weakness as love.

"What… how do you know if you're in love?" Pansy whispered as though unwilling to break this newfound closeness and intimacy that seemed to have settled between the two of them. She refused to scare away this potential source of information.

"Well, I guess it's when you can't stop thinking about a person. You lie awake and can't get her out of your mind. Or I suppose in your case 'him'. And when you're far from that person you imagine her face to be perfect and even though you realize it isn't when you see her again it doesn't matter because she's the most singularly wonderful individual in your life. Thinking of her makes you smile and there are times where you just want to laugh… to me, that's love. It's not having fantasies, Pansy, that's fucking and to me that isn't love. To- to love someone, it's to want to hold them in your arms and just kiss them tenderly, not dirty thoughts playing through your mind."

And with those last few words, the Malfoy heir turned his eyes to the flames that were slowly dying in the fireplace.

The brunette sat still, the expressions playing on her face during his speech finally ending with a mix of fright and admiration. When the intensity of this proximity had finally dimmed, she smiled softly. "The girl who lands you one day will be lucky. Honestly." And then an expression flitted through her eyes too quickly to be analyzed and the blond boy never even knew it was there. He just smirked and finally raised an eyebrow at the Parkinson girl. "Of course she'll be lucky, I'm a Malfoy." And with those last words, Draco stood up from where he had been sitting, and set for his dorm room, with no parting words or ceremonies.

The young woman sat still, watching him go with the same soft smile on her lips and was tempted to say something but decided that the moment was to remain peaceful. Her eyes held a depth to them that had been missing prior to the conversation and as she finally turned her gaze and looked into the dying embers of the fire, a tear slid down her cheek.

"I was afraid that was love. You've ruined me Draco Malfoy." And with those softly whispered words that could be mistaken as a figment of one's imagination, Pansy gracefully got up to her feet, folded the blanket on which the two Slytherins had been sitting and headed up for her own dorm. Feet trading lightly on the freezing floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Dreams

"One day I'm going to leave this place, Draco." That's what she said and I should have believed her but I only laughed.

"Go where, Pansy?" I would always ask her, my drawl filled with contempt. Then she would look up at me with hurt in her eyes, hurt I enjoyed inflicting. Her brown eyes would fill with angry tears and her upturned nose would be frighteningly similar to the pug Granger always compared her to.

"I'll leave, you mark my words Malfoy! Someday, I'm going to go to a place where I won't be hated for being a Slytherin or Parkinson and people will admire my nose and-"

"And what then Parkinson? Will they all clamor around you, these 'people'? Will they admire your beauty and intelligence? Well?" I would always interrupt and add my own hurtful words. She angered me, Pansy did. Always talking about a better place, where everything would be nicer, and the world softer… kinder. She irritated me with her vile lies.

"And I'll be far away from you! I'll never have to hear your infuriating drawl and those insipid stories about this girl and that!" And then the girl would storm off leaving me fuming or smirking, depending on the words she'd use that day. And if I were annoyed then I'd go bully a first year or send Crabbe and Goyle on a task that would take hours for those dim sods.

There were times when we would have civilized conversations. Pansy wouldn't go on with her galling chatter over what Tracey and Millicent said and I would avoid mentioning Potter and his irksome 'friends' Weasel and the Mudblood. I still maintain that Potter had to pay even them to stand his company for longer that a minute.

When we would have those, well, peaceful talks we would talk about dreams, steering clear from Pansy's crass belief that there could ever be a better place or world than the one we lived in. Pansy would get married to a handsome pureblood and move to a tasteful European country, most preferably Italy. She would give him an heir that would most certainly turn out just as badly as we had and would hold an impressive resemblance to his father. Hopefully the child would have the ability to make sarcastic comments and witty one-liners as well as a dry sense of humor.

As for me, well, we never really ventured into my future. Father was expecting much from his one and only child. I was the heir to the Malfoy fortune and blood. To pass on both and to teach my child or children (though god knows I was forbidden to spawning a brood like those awful Weasleys) the proper ways of a pureblood and Lord were my foremost job in life. I was to make a career or snide comments, society climbing, sneers and business meetings for a profession that was never truly defined. That and the dark mark; Merlin knows the only way to please Father was to serve his Dark Lord.

So we would pretend that I would be a professional quidditch player and have a hoard of fans consisting mainly of big-breasted blonds and hoarse voiced brunettes all clamoring for an intimate moment with me.

"Won't you ever get tired of meaningless flings with dumb bimbos after a while? Morgana knows you Malfoys always deserve the best!" She would say. And I would just raise an eyebrow at her as if to say there was absolutely no way I would tire of svelte ladies who's only thoughts involved clothes, make-up, money and me.

After that we would just sit in silence, both thinking about what the eventual reality would resemble. Would I end up in Azkaban as Father had or would I end up as one of those corpses found on a battle field or worse, would I be a Death Eater made an example of by whichever side. Would Pansy ever leave this hell hole, would she even have her inheritance or would she be made to marry one of those horrid old men thirty years her senior.

I should have listened to her when she said one day she was going to leave, that she would be far away from me and my gnarring voice. But then I'm a Malfoy, since when are we known for listening to those who are inferior to us. Never, that's what.

We turned seventeen sooner or later. We were adults, free to make our own decisions and use magic as we used as long as it was legal and far from unsuspecting muggles. Well, free to make our own choices might be too bold. Perhaps free to use the magic Father directed me to do, Pansy was free to look for potential husbands among the candidates her father had appointed. Things were not looking up, in fact the war had started and my life was positively dreary. Father kept trying to drill me to be a Death Eater and yet sometimes he would get this hint of fear in his eyes and by the time which it took me to learn each spell I'm guessing he wasn't all that enthusiastic about me taking a place as Voldemort's loyal servant.

Pansy would visit every once in a while at the manor, she would always look bored and rather morose but would always manage a smirk towards Auntie Bella. Not that I would recommend to do so but it was rather amusing to observe. The highlight of my day you might say.

Then she would visit less and less and she would show fewer emotions, her eyes were not grim but alert at all times. She wouldn't look at Aunt Bella, she wouldn't even listen to my jokes, Merlin knows that I had few to say by then. She was always clean and carried this little bag with her wherever she went, saying that at times like these, a girl had to be ready to powder her nose for any occasion be it a funeral or a party.

Then she was gone.

One day we were talking as we sometimes did. It was in my room in the Manor, smelling of the old days when we were carefree snotty third year Slytherins whose only cares were insulting that oaf of a giant Hagrid and flustering the feathers of the staff. We were both lying on my bed which was still hard and un-giving, the sheets soft to the touch yet cold, like everything else in the Manor really. The dim light glowing from a few candles placed here and there, the moon shining rather brightly through my semi-circular window. We were both sitting at the edge of my bed, desperately trying to stop our feet from touching the freezing tiles and yet trying to swing them as we did when we were short enough not to touch the floor. She turned to me. She turned to me and she said in that different voice of hers, the one I hadn't had the time to analyze, to understand.

"Draco," she had said, "Draco, I'm going to tell you something and I'll never repeat it again and you must promise me you'll listen for one. Damn your pride. Are we clear?"

I just nodded, thinking that letting her prattle now would save me the shrill screaming that my ignorance usually brought on.

"You're the Prince of Slytherin and a Malfoy but you're also Draco. You- you may think that you could live with taking someone's life…" At this I turned sharply and looked at her, sensing the seriousness and unpleasantness her words would inspire. I was opening my mouth to object, to say something, anything that would make me feel less like crying. We were at war, we were purebloods, we were in the right and those mudbloods and blood-traitors were all wrong. They deserved whatever the Dark Lord said they did. Yet there was that inkling that perhaps… perhaps this was not all. Perhaps there was more to this then us and our wands and the orders coming from an inhuman monster who tortured his own followers.

"Draco, do not interrupt! Now, as I was saying. You're not a murderer and you're not evil, you silly ferret. I- I don't care that your father expects this from you, that the Potters in this world wouldn't give you a second glance or that this is your inheritance. You're more that that and I won't see you end up dead or rotting away in some cell. So Draco Malfoy you'll listen to my words and you'll head them well. I may not be a seer or diviner and I sure as hell will never see your future in the soggy leaves left over from your morning tea but I- I can tell that you can be good. Well, not good as in bunnies and puppies but… you could do some good. You could fight for what you really believe and not what your father tells you or what you've been fed all your life."

I'll admit, I got angry at those words, was she assuming that I had no independent thought? That I wasn't capable of making my own opinion over a political matter, over something that concerned my life and the future Malfoy generations? My pride was wounded that she could consider me from the same cast as Crabbe or Goyle.

"Now see here, Pansy. I am perfectly capable of-" I started to speak but she never let me finish.

"BE QUIET! I'm tired of your foolishness," Pansy got off the bed and stamped her foot on the terribly cold tiles and my attention was deviated for a second as I thought of the icy feeling she must have been experiencing. Soon again, she captured my attention by using her arctic hands to pull my eyes back to her face.

She was the picture of anger, her eyes spitting fire at me and her cheeks flecked with blushing red. I reconsidered the fact that she might be freezing, her anger seemed to work more effectively that any warming charm I'd ever red about.

"Stop this nonsense! You will think for yourself and if- when we meet again you will have achieved something. You will have some reason for that cursed pride of yours!" And with those parting words she stormed off, never to be seen again.

I waited. I thought she was just calming down, that once she was done with her pouting she would run into my room, hug me until I feared for my life and start tearing up with apologies as per usual. She never came.

I started fearing for her well-being. What if someone had heard her? What if she had started sprouting her traitorous thoughts and words in front or to someone else? What if Bella had finally given in to the temptation of punishing the insolent girl? Then I did the only thing I could to alleviate my worry, my guilt. What if she was dying or dead because of me? Because she wanted to… save me?

I laughed, save me? Save a soul as ruined and unfeeling as mine? Perhaps that's what her speech had been about. Pansy had always had silly ideas, her name had been suitable in her case. The ditty little flower child.

But I didn't want to think about the little flower girl or the girl who would come over when I was younger, dressed in pink and with a violet ribbon in her hair, giggling at inconsequential things. So I did the only thing I know could make things better: I thought.

I thought of the war and The Dark Lord's position. I thought about Father and what that persistent gleam of fear was behind his eyes, what it meant. I thought about mother and the teary look she would get every time I would come down the stairs adorning black robes. I thought of my godfather, Severus Snape and how he had refused to look at me after he had killed the Headmaster in my place. I thought of Potter and how he had never truly looked happy when I had seen him in the corridors of Hogwarts, of his face when he found me in that bathroom with Morning Myrtle. And then I realized. The silly girl was right. She might have been a silly girl with a flower but I was just a silly boy with a stick who thought that because I could levitate a few objects and scare a few innocent children I was ready for the consequences of joining the big bad.

When the war was over, after I had joined the damn light side and its purveyors of justice, cleared Snape's name and cleared mine, I received a letter. She wasn't dead but she was gone. Pansy was now twenty-three and married with a charming French man with dark hair and eyes who spouted poetry at any given time and spoke English fluently. She had a little brood, the eldest a boy named Pierre, then a girl called Stefanie and finally a little baby that she named Den because apparently that was as close to a namesake as she would get. Merlin forbid she curse her child with a name like Draco, apparently one needed a strong personality to pull it off and as much as she loved her husband he was rather easy-going and flimsy, the children would be sweet little spoilt plums and that was that. The picture adjoined with the letter showed a young woman who smiled and had a perfectly adorably upturned nose.

She was gone and I should have listened. There was no more of that young girl I knew and I would never find her again. I would have liked to say thank you to her. After all, I don't know about my soul, but she saved my life.

As for me, I will never beat Potter to the snitch and I have had my full of dim-witted women who's only cares in life are clothes, make-up, money and me.

Still, I've been told I play a nice game as chaser.


End file.
